A Life Less Ordinary
by Julia Fractal
Summary: Like a wayward house elf, Harry Potter turned up in the last place one would expect.  WARNINGS: Slash, but no pairings.


**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A Life Less Ordinary**  
  
Like a wayward house elf, Harry Potter turned up in the last place one would expect.  
  
Even a novice would have been hard-pressed to mistake the purpose of a bar named Wand Meets Wand. The clientele consisted of assorted wizards, warlocks, and sorcerers, but there was not a single witch in sight. Just to belabour the point, each of the pink serviettes was emblazoned with two wands that rubbed against each other energetically, and then emitted a jet of golden sparks from their tips.  
  
Yet there he sat, far from the magical protection of blood kin or Dumbledore's watchful eyes, idly twiddling with one of the infernal pink napkins as he waited for another drink to arrive.  
  
I considered killing him on the spot. Unfortunately, there were enough patrons present that even Disapparation may not have been a sufficiently fast mode of escape. Instead, I quickly checked my appearance in the bar mirror as I approached. Brown hair, brown eyes, a face so non-descript that even the loquacious mirror paid me no notice. How many years, and how many visits to such establishments had it taken before the reflection of this transfigured face stopped surprising me?  
  
"Hello. What are you doing here?" I enquired politely.  
  
Potter barely glanced in my direction. "What does anyone do here, besides getting drunk and trying to get laid?"  
  
The curtness of his reply was compromised by a faint blush which accompanied the word 'laid'.  
  
"Getting drunk enough to forget about getting laid, perhaps?" I offered, and he laughed out loud.  
  
"Yeah, that too. Sorry for being surly." He turned around on his stool to face me fully, and proffered his hand, "my name's Neville, what's yours?"  
  
The lie was surprisingly smooth, but Potter had taken no other measures to disguise his identity. Even his lightning-shaped scar was barely concealed behind a fringe of hair and a bit of grime.  
  
"Edward," I answered as I shook his hand. Perhaps there was more than one way to lure out a quarry. Taking the seat next to his, I began the long pursuit that preceded every kill.  
  
"So, why are you really here?" I asked again after we had both downed more than a few drinks.  
  
Potter hesitated for a long moment before answering.  
  
"'Cause I've got nowhere else to be," he finally replied, so quietly that I barely heard him. "My aunt and uncle kicked me out of the house a week ago."  
  
One week and three days ago to be precise. Late in the evening of August 2, Harry Potter had stormed out of number 4, Privet Drive and Disapparated away. Every Death Eater in Britain, myself included, had been hunting for him ever since.  
  
"It's funny. Every single summer since I started at Hogwarts, they've been threatening to kick me out for using magic. They're Muggles, you see. Anyway, now that I'm seventeen and finally old enough to work all the magic I want, I get disowned for good because I prefer to snog boys!"  
  
"But surely you must have somebody else to turn to," I prompted.  
  
He shook his head. "I'm...interested in my best friend. Finally worked up the nerve to tell him just before summer break. But he doesn't feel the same way about me, or any other bloke for that matter. Now it would be way too awkward to ask his family to take me in. My other best friend is researching counter dark arts spells in China. My parents are dead, and my Godfather was murdered about a year ago. So here I am." He tried to shrug nonchalantly, but gave up the attempt and merely slumped in defeat.  
  
"I'm very sorry to hear that," I said, and was startled to find that the words were not a complete lie. A few decades ago, I might have been the one sitting in his place.  
  
"Any regrets about what happened?" I asked.  
  
"No... well..., yes. I just wish I'd given my porky cousin another tail before I left."  
  
I smiled and raised my glass to him, "cheers to that!" and we both downed the remainder of our glasses in a single gulp.  
  
"So, any ideas on what I should do?" Potter asked.  
  
I bit back a laugh at the absurdity of him consulting me for advice. Still, I was once just as young and nearly as stupid. I recalled sitting in a bar much like this one, with my arm around the waist of another dark- haired young man, whispering into his ear that I wasn't going home tonight. After all, I was a Malfoy, and a Malfoy did what he pleased.  
  
The next morning, I learned the cost of living the life I wanted. My father had coldly informed me of all I stood to lose: my wealth, my honour, my name, in short - everything. So I had renounced my ways in order to keep my inheritance. I acquired a beautiful wife, and even managed to produce an heir: all the necessary trappings of a respectable, ordinary life. 'Edward' was my escape from the restrictions of that life, and his bland face was a mask I have worn much longer than the mask of a Death Eater.  
  
"No," I said simply, and we each ordered another Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.  
  
"God, I'd give anything for a normal life," Potter prattled on as his left hand left the whiskey glass to gesticulate in mid-air. "You know, play Quidditch, worry about NEWTs, just be seventeen and stupid."  
  
His hand wavered in mid-air for a moment, then suddenly landed on top of mine. Startled, I met his eyes, and the invitation in them was unmistakable. Impossibly green eyes and desperate, searing need.  
  
My heart hammered against my ribs. A secluded location and an utterly defenceless Harry Potter. The perfect opportunity to cast Avada Kedavra on the brat. Hell, I could even take the boy up on his offer first. To close in for the kill, all I needed to do was squeeze the warm hand resting on top of mine.  
  
I grasped Potter's hand firmly. He smiled, and then frowned as I wrapped it around his whiskey glass again.  
  
"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean -"  
  
"Potter, I do have a word of advice for you. You are not an ordinary seventeen year-old, and you cannot afford to be imprudent enough to confide in strangers. If you wish to hold on to the miserable life you have, you had best get to Hogwarts. Immediately."  
  
He simply gaped at me in dumb shock. "How... how did you know my real name?" he finally stammered out.  
  
"Go!" I repeated as I drew my wand.  
  
Several heads turned in our direction as Potter Disapparated out of his stool with a loud crack. I merely re-sheathed my wand and returned to my Firewhiskey.  
  
Tomorrow, I will undoubtedly regret this rash indulgence. But for now, I am out of my own skin and can do what I please. Tonight, I choose to pay homage to the ghost of my seventeen year-old self, and wonder about the life I might have led had I been a little more brave and a lot more foolish.  
  
"To a life less ordinary," I declared as I raised the glass to my own bland reflection. The whiskey burned all the way down.

_The End_


End file.
